Mischief Managed
by DragonSong23
Summary: The scene of Fred's death was heartbreaking. But what did George feel after the battle? And what were Fred's final words to his grieving brother? (Rewrite of one of my old stories)


**Mischief Managed**

**Hello there, this is a rewrite of the same story I posted two years and wanted to revisit.**

**I hope you like it :)**

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It was over, Voldemort was gone, defeated. His fellow death eaters were either scattered aimlessly all over the castle bloody and broken or running for the hills tails between their legs, loyalty to them-selves only finally reviled.

The majority of the school was in ruin, it was strange looking around at the broken halls of a castle he had known since he was 11 years old. All the remained in tacked was the great hall and a couple of the house common rooms, everything else was broken. A miserable metaphor for how he felt, the castle just like he, was broken beyond normal repair.

Everything would be peaceful and calm once more. People could come out of hiding. The wizarding world may finally be able to trust each other again because Voldemort was dead which meant the world would be okay again.

Right?

Wrong.

Nothing would be okay ever again. Nothing would ever be the same because he was… because he was…

Because he was dead.

His other half gone forever. He choked on the thought, still unable to accept it. His life was broken just like the castle, bits of it lay in pieces all around him, and there was no way he would be able to stick those pieces back together. Too much of him was broken and one whole chunk, his other half was missing, lost forever and there was no way he could get it back.

There were smiles all around him, laughing joking and celebrating because they had won. But how could they? Not everyone had survived, no everyone was left unscathed. So how could they even consider celebrating?

He looked around at his family, at his mother and father who sat hand in hand. His mum rested her head on his father's chest, her ginger hair blocked her face, but it could not block the muffled sobs or the shaky rise and fall of her chest. His dad sat still, rubbing his hand up and down her back his cheeks streaked with tears, but his eyes were empty, raw from crying, red from grief. Though he tried to contain it George could see his shaky breath and the amount of effort he was putting into not breaking down, because he had to stay strong for Molly, who lay a broken mess under his arm.

He looked at his youngest sibling, his sister who sat twirling a piece for hair around her finger absentmindedly staring forward, her eyes were also empty, apart from a fresh stream of tears that spilled down her cheeks. She dropped the strand of hair and placed her head in her hands, overcome with a second wave of grief. George watched as Charlie warped her in a bare hung, their long hair mixing together. Charlie was the only Weasley without tear streaks down his cheeks, but George could see them brimming up in his eyes. He could see the shake of his hand as he stroked Ginny's hair. He could hear the shake of his breath. He could share his pain. Charlie looked up at his brother and smiled at him sadly as they both shared a moment of grief. He may have smiled, but his eyes, his eyes told it all.

George sniffed and whipped his own tears away and looked over to Bill and Fleur who sat hand in hand. Fleur was whispering quiet words of comfort to her husband, whose tears had dried leaving nothing but streaks down the side of his scared face. His eyes were also empty staring off into space, not really listening to what his wife was saying.

George looked away to Percy whose tears had also dried a long time ago, his brother's eyes were squeezed shut as he rested his head in his hands and his glasses lay on the table. George knew Percy blamed himself for the death of their brother. Their mum had tried to talk him out of it through her tears but he was too irrationally struck with grief to listen. George sighed and brushed away a fresh set of tears. Percy had fallen into a sea of guilt and was drowning in it.

The shaky cries of his younger brother caught his attention. Ron sat in Hermione's arms. Head stooped low into her shoulder. Her cheeks were also patterned with grief and he knew from the gasps of breath coming from his brother that Ron's were too. Hermione ran a hand up and down his brothers back and nestled her head into his neck, both sharing their grief.

He needed some space to think, some space to mourn on his own.

He needed to get away from here, from the smiles and laughter, from the sorrow and tears. He stood up legs shaky, eyes blurry. Charlie looked up at his brother's movement from where he sat cradling his little sister.

"I'll be back, I just need some air." was all George said.

"Be safe" his brother replied. George nodded and hurried towards the exit of the great hall.

He walked quickly, trying not to grab attention of those he knew, he needed to be alone. He needed to get out of here, away from the body of his brother. His tears built up again then his head turned around involuntarily. He saw his brother's body again, still, lifeless, dead. The ghost of a smile still spread across his lips. He choked on his tears and ran, legs wobbly, heart thudding and cheeks wet.

He just ran, unsure where he was going, he just needed to escape and leave it all behind him. He didn't know where he was running and he didn't care he was just glad to finally be free of the grief behind him. He ran up a handful of staircases, down corridors, passed broken statues and slashed paintings and classrooms with walls and doors missing. He ran passed fallen bodies, death eaters, and others who had to yet be discovered. But he couldn't stop for them, he had to leave he had to escape.

He didn't know where he was going until he reached the 7th floor and stood with his back to the ripped tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. He paced in front of the room thinking three words, just three, _Fred and George, Fred and George, Fred and George. _His mind called out to the room, pleading for its help for its assistance.

Then the door appeared and George stopped suddenly in his tracks. Fresh tears brimmed to his eyes as he recognised the door in front of him. It was the door to his bedroom back at the burrow. Pictures of himself and Fred were stuck to the outside, smiling and waving at him. Their names were graffitied above small hand prints they had made as children. He knelt down and placed a hand over the red print Fred had made all those years ago. He bowed his head and pushed open the door.

He took a deep breath, stood up and entered, hand trailing over Fred's hand print as he walked through the open door. He was welcomed with their bedroom exactly as they had left it, clothes on the floor, beds unmade. Joke shop ideas piled high in towering boxes fixed in place with magic so they wouldn't fall. Drawings, photos and posters covered the walls. He sat down on Fred's bed and hugged the pillow to his chest as he looked round at the room he knew so well, but despite the clutter and the familiarity, it felt so unfamiliarity empty.

Everything he remembered played out in the front of his mind like ghosts. Ghosts that would haunt his mind for years to come. Ghosts that only he could see, that only he could mourn.

He remembered himself and Fred at the age of five hiding under his bed while playing hide and seek with Percy. They lay there giggling, eyes fixed on the bucket of water poised above their door, waiting for their seeker to enter the room. The scream of horror that escaped his lips was worth the punishment of cleaning the toilets for two weeks.

He remembered being nine and pinning a picture of them to their wall that Ginny had drawn. He looked over to the wall and smiled as he noticed the folded corner of said drawing sticking out under a recent photo of the DA. How naive they had been back then. He looked at the pictures and posters on the wall and smiled a sad smile, his tears having dried up a long time ago, as he remembered each and every picture that was fading on the walls. One picture caught his eye, it was a magical copy of the Marauders Map that they had done in fifth year in preparation of handing it over to Harry. Of course, it didn't move like the original but it had a decent layout of all their secret passageways just in case one day they forgot.

They had managed to open the map during the Easter holidays of their 1st year. They had sat on Fred's bed, map resting on their knees shouting random words at it willing it to open, a few of those words had been swear words, but that had only caused the marauders comments to get worse until Fred finally shouted "We're up to no good too you know" which was when the Marauders started giving them very very subtle clues to opening the map. The celebration they had once it had once it had opened was nearly as good as the swamp they created in their final year at Hogwarts.

He remembered being sixteen and planning what to do with the money Harry had given them after winning the tri-wizard tournament. They had spent hours that summer inventing and making new joke shop toys and sweets whilst doing their best to hide it away from their mothers ever prying eyes.

Then at 18 they were moving out of the burrow into their new flat above their joke shop. They were nervous but excited to finally get the joke shop going. He smiled fondly as he remembered the fuss their mother made, bringing too many boxes and bags to store all their things in, they didn't have much but they let her get on with it. He remembered the tears in her eyes and the fuss she made, folding the collar of their shirts down and straightening their ties as they stood outside of the burrow ready to apperate to their new home. They had joked, promising to visit and bring mayhem with them.

But all of that seemed so pointless now, he was dead, there was no-one to share it with any more. It would just be him in their flat and the ghost of a smile that would haunt him for the rest of his days. Sure Ron had offered to run the shop with him, but it wouldn't be the same. Nothing would ever be the same again.

"Why did you leave me Freddie?" he whispered to his memories and the empty room.

"It's not fair Freddie!" he shouted. "IT'S NOT FAIR" he shouted angrily throwing the pillow he hugged to his chest against the opposite wall.

He sunk down off the bed and sat on the floor, knees drawn up tightly to his chest. A sob escaped his mouth as a fresh stream of tears rolled down his cheeks. "Why did you leave me? Why did you leave me?" he muttered over and over again remember the way Fred had looked, how he had died smiling. No-one should die like that. No-one should die that young.

"WHY FREDDIE?" he shouted pounding the floor with his fist as he angrily challenged the cruel universe for the death of his brother, his twin. "Why?" he whispered. And then once more, he was lost in his memories, lost in the smiles and lost in his grief.

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"I never chose to die." A voice said, but it was not heard. "I never wanted this, you know that." The voice was quiet and sad, the opposite of the fury that just echoed around the small room. This voice was gentle and sad.

Fred looked down at his brother, wishing that George could see him one last time, wishing that they could have said goodbye properly instead of in the broken way that they did, one a lifeless statue the other cold and broken. Fred sat down on the floor next to George and rested his head back against the bed. He looked over to George and wished that his brother could hear him, see him or at least know that he was there. But he couldn't. Fred was just a ghost, clinging onto the mortal world by one single thread before he slipped away forever.

"I'm going to miss you Georgie." He whispered looking at his brother who sat curled up in a ball, his fists gripped tightly at material of his trousers in an attempt to pull himself together as he fell apart at the seams.

"It's silly isn't it," Fred sighed tearing his eyes away from his brother and looking down at his hands. "I never thought it would end like this, I always imagined that we would die together, you 13 minutes before me, just like when we were born, evidently not." Fred said. He sighed and looked at his brother again, imploring him to listen, hoping that he could. "Do you remember it Georgie, all the fun we had? Can you remember the pranks we pulled, the jokes we made, and the laughter we caused? I can. I won't ever forget them and neither should you. Hold onto those memories George, remember them all and cherish them." The twin paused, silently contemplating what he wanted to say next. "You have to move on though Georgie. You can't stay stuck in the past forever, sure cherish the years we had together, but you can't spend your days moping about me, you'll never be happy that way. Don't try to kill yourself, that will get you nowhere, mum needs you and I need you to stay here and look after a few people for me. Look after Angie, make sure she's happy and look after the joke shop, if you quit that I will come down here and kill you myself! Tease little Ron about Hermione and keep smiling and spreading laughter. But most importantly don't stop living. Stay for them, stay for mum, stay for me, don't you dare let go." Fred's voice became urgent as he spoke, eyes flicking all over his brothers face, searching for any recognition that he was there.

He lent back against the bed again, "I have to go soon Georgie, I don't know where, but I do know that it's time for me to go. There's no need to worry about me, I've got Remus and Tonks to do that." He had met the couple in the great hall, looking down at their bodies, warped in the other's arms, grieving the loss of their son who would have to live without them. Remus had told him where George had gone, and then he had ran, straight towards his brother, who he never wanted to leave, not like this.

"I love you Georgie, I always will, but you have to promise me that you won't get stuck on me, you have to promise that you'll go out and live your life, get married and have kids and your first born son better be called Fred!" the twin paused, "If you don't get up and go, I will personally come down here and force you up off your sorry ass. I will always watch over you to make sure that you're safe, to make sure you're happy." Fred pushed himself up off the floor and crouched down in front of his brother. George couldn't see him, but to Fred it meant everything, to look George in the eye one last time, to take in all of his features, the missing ear, the tangled mass of ginger hair and green eyes, just like his own. Now he knew he could move on, be at peace. Now he knew that it was time to say his final goodbyes, his swan song. He knew now that George would be okay.

He sighed and looked long and hard at George, absorbing every detail of his brother that he would never see again. "Mischief managed hey Georgie. But not for you. Not now. You have to promise me that you'll be just as troublesome as we always were." His body started to fade away and his smiled as sad smile as his inspected his fading hand. "I have to go now, be safe Forge, be silly, be cheeky, be whatever the hell you want to be, I know you'll be fantastic." He paused and stood up.

"Goodbye Feorge." He said taking one last look around his old bedroom. And then with a ghost of a smile he was gone.

"Goodbye Gred." George whispered, rising his head and wiping away his tears, accepting for the first time that his brother was gone.

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**I hope the characters weren't too out of character. The aftermath of Fred's death was something I always wanted to explore as I guess the death of your twin would be like watching yourself die, which isn't something particularly explored in the books or films.**

**So what did you think? Review if you would wish, they're always a source of great critical encouragement!**

**Anyway I hope you liked it, I certainly enjoyed revisiting this story.**


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